THE BLUE WILLOW TEA SET I lied for it, cheated for it- I even stole from my husband for it! The Blue Willow Tea Set starts out as a fairly ordinary story about a young housewife coping with the financial hardships of the early 1980s, then subtly segues into a psychological study. Dottie latches on to the pieces of Blue Willow china in a local antique shop in an attempt to recapture a fleeting moment of childhood comfort, but her obsession grows to the point where she starts dipping into the family’s food budget. Dottie’s backstory makes it easier for readers to empathize with her dilemma—and we get a lot more details about her past than we typically get in a True Love story. So many of these stories end up with the narrators promising that they’ve learned how to be happy for what they’ve got, but in this case you really get the sense that, for Dottie, it’s been a hard-earned lesson.
Mom,” Jason whined, “Josh won’t stop kicking me.”
“He started it, Mom,” Joshua said, a scowl on his normally happy face. I sighed. Usually, the boys enjoyed our before-lunch walks. We live right near the edge of town, where some people have larger plots of land than ours, with room for gardens and a few chickens or other animals. It’s a good area for kids, and my sons and I had always enjoyed exploring it. But ever since the McCords had sold their donkey, Maude, things just hadn’t been the same. Our daily visits with the friendly old donkey had been the high point of each outing. We made sure always to take along a couple of carrots, because Maude loved them almost as much as the wild anise that grew just out of reach on the other side of her fence. “Is it made out of licorice sticks, Mom?” Jason once asked, noticing the strong odor as we broke off the tall feathery stalks of anise. “No, honey,” I’d laughed, “but it probably tastes just as good to a donkey.” “Then she has to eat her carrots first,” Josh had said insistently, “before she gets to have her dessert.” To tell you the truth, I missed that moth-eaten old donkey almost as much as the boys did. Things had been tight enough for Ken and me when our sons were babies. But now, what with inflation our entertainment budget had shrunk almost to zero. I’d had to be more creative than ever about finding free entertainment. Picnics in the park and potluck dinners were about the only way Ken and I could go out together and be with other adults. Baby-sitters were a luxury we couldn’t even consider. Thank goodness pre-schoolers are easy to please! To a four- and five-year-old, high adventure is finding a puddle full of wriggly tadpoles or a huge toad sunning himself on a rock. And good old Maude, with her funny hee-haw that was just like the sound of a rusty gate closing, was better than a three-ring circus. Which was a good thing. I don’t know when we could have afforded the price of tickets to a real circus. “I have an idea,” I said brightly, trying not to let the boys know how grumpy I felt myself. “Why don’t we go back to the corner and look for a street we’ve never walked down before?” “Yeah,” Joshua agreed. “This street is sure no good without a donkey.” “Yeah,” Jason echoed, “it’s a dumb old street.” But when we turned the corner, my heart sank. I’d forgotten that Garson’s was on this street. Old Mrs. Garson had started an antique and curio shop in what used to be the front sun-porch of her house. I’d never actually been inside her shop, because old dingy furniture and ancient mementoes always gave me the creeps. They reminded me too much of a childhood I’d just as soon forget. I didn’t like anything that dredged up memories of how I’d been shuffled from one set of relatives to another, hardly even given the care and attention the overstuffed chairs and hulking credenzas received. I was just the orphan nobody really wanted. For a long time after my mom died, I used to have nightmares. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, terrified by my dreams. The shadows of the enormous wardrobes and chests seemed like monsters ready to gobble me up or trample me to bits. I’d hide my head under the covers, shaking with fear, until I finally fell asleep again from sheer exhaustion. But it would happen again the next night. Now, in an effort to clear my mind of those unpleasant memories, I tried to think of something to distract us all. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and somebody will have a goat—or maybe even a duck-pond.” “Yippee,” Josh and Jason shouted in unison. They went racing off ahead of me, cheered by the prospect of new animal friends. But as they passed Garson’s, they both came to a sudden halt. “Hey, Mom, come look. Quick!”
I felt as though I were glued to the pavement, and I could hardly move my feet. I knew that tone of voice. It meant they’d found something they wanted, something big and expensive. That was enough to make me feel depressed and upset, even without the idea of staring into a window full of gloomy antiques. I hated to disappoint the boys. It was hard enough to scrape up enough money to buy small, relatively inexpensive toys for the boys. But it broke my heart to see them stare wistfully at some treasure, a treasure which, at that moment, they wanted more than anything in the whole world. That’s the way I always felt about Grammie J’s Blue Willow tea set, I suddenly remembered. To my surprise, the thought made me feel like bursting into tears. In spite of my dragging steps, I soon caught up with the boys, who were jumping up and down with excitement in front of Garson’s. “A bear, Mom! A great big bear!” Jason shouted. “What makes it go, Mom?” Josh asked, his eyes shining. “I’m not sure, Josh,” I answered, shivering as I looked up at the huge mechanical animal. Its shiny worn fur reminded me of those old horsehair sofas, like the one at Aunt Julia’s, where I was supposed to be seen and not heard and not ever squirm—no matter how much the upholstery prickled. But I had to smile at the permanent grin on the bear’s face and at the way it jerkily tipped its faded red cap with one paw, holding its battered tin cup out to us with the other. “Can we go in and give it a penny?” Jason asked. “No, we can’t go in there with all those expensive old breakable things,” I answered, relieved that I had a good excuse for staying outside. I was glad the bear was so enormous—at least six feet tall and probably from some longago store display—because the boys just nodded resignedly when I added that we couldn’t even consider buying it because we didn’t have room for it at home. At least I didn’t have to mention to them that the price tag read a great big staggering five hundred dollars! “But we can come and visit it whenever we take our walks,” I promised. I didn’t feel so bad now. The bear could replace Maude the donkey, even if it wasn’t actually a live animal. Besides, our trek wasn’t over, and who knew what other surprises we might discover along the way. Just as we turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of something off in the dim corner of the shop window that stopped me in my tracks. My heart pounding, I moved closer and peered through the glass at what looked like an old washstand set, with a large pitcher sitting in a big shallow bowl. What really took my breath away was the blue-and-white pattern of birds, bridge, and, of course, the willow trees. “Blue Willow!” I breathed, ignoring the boys’ complaints about being hungry and wanting to head for home. “Blue Willow—just like Grammie J’s tea set.” I sighed happily. A warm feeling started to spread over me. As I stood there entranced, the memories flooded back . . . I had scarcely known Grammie J, my great-grandmother, yet her house was the only place I ever felt safe and welcome in when I was a child. I was sure Grammie was the oldest person in the whole world. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, but it was pink and delicate looking, like a piece of china that had shattered into a million pieces and then been painstakingly glued back together. Grammie J never said much to me, but when she did, she looked at me as though I was a real person. She didn’t look through me or around me, the way most of my adult relatives did. “Georgia,” she’d say to the daughter who lived with her, “tea, with lots of milk and sugar, for Dottie, and plenty of tea cakes. And be sure to use the Blue Willow set.” Grammie J’s eyes would twinkle as she watched me carefully sip my tea from the child-sized cup. How special and important I felt, as I poured from the delicate little teapot that was just the right size for my young hands. I’d heard the story many times of how Grammie J’s ship captain father had brought it back to her from the Orient, “when I wasn’t much older than you are, Dottie.” Unfortunately, I’d also overheard other relatives commenting on my great-grandmother’s foolishness in allowing “that clumsy child to play with a priceless treasure like that.” “Why, with the matching tray, well, I don’t know what it would bring in an antique shop,” Aunt Ellen would say disapprovingly to Aunt Gloria as we drove home, hardly bothering to lower her voice at all. The whole time I was growing up, I never felt it was safe to relax, even for a minute. I was always braced for the worst, my stomach slightly tensed, as though I were waiting for the other shoe to drop. I had to be careful. I mustn’t irritate Aunt Julia. After all, the whole family knew children made her nervous. Otherwise, I was sure to be shipped off to Aunt Gloria’s farm again, where I was treated more like a farmhand than a member of the family. To me, life was like trying to balance on a seesaw. One misstep on my part, and off I fell, never sure exactly where I’d land. Grammie J’s was the one place I felt trusted. Not for the world would I have endangered that trust by being clumsy with the wonderful Blue Willow tea set. And somehow, under my great-grandmother’s kind and understanding gaze, I felt grown-up and graceful, like a grand duchess pouring tea for herself and her royal guests.
If only I could have lived there with Grammie J! But she was very old and delicate. Heart problems, the relatives murmured. It was all my Great-aunt Georgia—no spring chicken herself—could do to care for that big old house and for herself and her mother. I’d heard that said often enough. Anyway, I’d never have dared suggest it myself, no matter how much I longed to stay with Grammie J forever. I was only ten when my great-grandmother passed away, still young enough to enjoy the Blue Willow tea set. But I never saw it again, and I have no idea what happened to it. There was so much squabbling and confusion among the relatives over who was to get which of Grammie J’s treasures that it was more than any one person could do to keep up with it all. Not that most of her descendants cared enough to keep and cherish her things. Mostly, they were just out for the money a particular item would bring in some antique or junk shop. So I was sure the set had been sold. Mainly, I tried not to think about it at all. Once Grammie J was gone, so was my one safe haven. And now, all these years later, the washstand set in Garson’s window had brought it all back, as vividly as ever. I was barely conscious of the boys’ chatter as we walked home, and I was practically in a trance as I spread peanut butter on slices of bread and got apples and milk from the refrigerator for our lunch. Once Josh and Jason were settled down for their after-lunch rest period, I had to stifle an almost overpowering urge to rush back over to Garson’s and press my nose against the glass, just like the boys had done while they watched the mechanical bear. Now that I’d discovered the Blue Willow, I no longer dreaded our daily stops at Garson’s. In fact, I could hardly wait until it was time for our walk. Ken’s own childhood was a pretty normal one. By that, I mean that he got yelled at and punished now and then and occasionally blamed for something he hadn’t done. It’s like that for any kid. But he knew he was loved and wanted, and “being careful” to him meant not tracking in too much mud or not eating chocolate ice cream on the living-room sofa. And I didn’t even have to ask to be sure he’d never had to apologize for his parents, the way I felt I had to about mine. I always liked to think that my own father wouldn’t have walked out on Mom if he’d just known she was expecting me. Then Mom wouldn’t have been clerking in that department store and wouldn’t have been in the basement stockroom on the day of the big fire. But all the relatives had seemed to think Mom was a fool, “taking up with that traveling man, and him a gambler to boot!” they would tsk indignantly. But if it hadn’t been for my parents’ difficulties, the relatives wouldn’t have had their scapegoat. I’ll never forget Uncle George’s pointed comments. “Bad business, anyone having a no-good, two-bit gambler for a father. Runs in the blood, they say,” he’d mumble, chewing on his cigar. Then, lowering his voice and jerking his head in my direction, he’d add, “Better not leave any of your loose change lying around where the kid can get at it.” My eyes stung with tears at his words, but I pretended not to have heard—as if I’d take their darned money or valuables, anyway! Even if I’d wanted to, I had enough troubles, without bringing anything else down on my head. Still, I constantly lived in fear that something really valuable would turn up missing and I’d be blamed for it. Like that time with Uncle Herman. Uncle Herman needed glasses. Everyone in the family knew it. He was always thrusting the phone book at one or the other of us and saying, “I don’t suppose you can make out this number either, can you?” Of course we all could. That’s why I didn’t think anything of it the day his gold tie clasp with the tiny ruby in the middle disappeared. I didn’t dare join in the search, though. It would have looked too suspicious if I’d happened to be the one to find it. The family searched everywhere, casting dark looks in my direction whenever they passed anywhere near me. I finally went out and took refuge in the tool shed. There, I dozed off, sleeping through dinner and causing a general ruckus until one of the cousins thought of looking for me there. Someone had finally had the sense to check Uncle Herman’s bureau. Of course, the tie clasp had been right there all along. If it hadn’t been, I’m sure they all would have imagined me already on the bus to Reno by way of the Old Reliable Pawnshop, instead of out in the tool shed, crying myself to sleep. Everyone was pretty subdued for days after that, and I felt a certain smug satisfaction. But it didn’t last, of course, so I always had to be careful. That’s why Ken’s attitude toward lost items was such a breath of fresh air to me. If he couldn’t find something, his first thought was that he’d misplaced it himself. His second thought was to shrug his shoulders and say, “Oh, well, it’ll probably turn up sooner or later.” It was such a relief, and such a surprise, to be trusted like that. It had made a real difference in my life, and I’d gradually relaxed. I’d never felt I had to have any secrets from Ken. He seemed to take things as they came, without letting his imagination run away with him. I really couldn’t have imagined hesitating to tell him about anything, and I was pretty sure he felt the same way with me. So never in a million years would I have dreamed that a ghost from my past would get me started keeping things from my husband. It all started pretty innocently one day when the boys and I made our usual visit to Garson’s window. Josh and Jason had gotten somewhat resigned to my long stay there. The bear was still in the window, but smaller things came and went. Mrs. Garson seemed to have a fondness for old toys—rocking horses, lead soldiers, all sorts of things that fascinate little ones.
As for me, I lived in fear that someone would buy the Blue Willow washstand set. But, apparently, everyone who’d seen it couldn’t put out that kind of money either. So there it sat. On this particular day, however, my eye caught something new: a single Blue Willow saucer perched on a tiny plate rack. Even craning my neck in all directions wasn’t enough to give me a look at the price tag. So, my heart beating wildly, I told Josh and Jason to wait outside. I slowly pushed open the door and went inside. The stale air, smelling of old things, was almost enough to make me turn around and walk right back outside. Trying not to look at the hideous old chiffoniers and commodes that loomed menacingly in the back of the shop, I headed straight for the window and the saucer. The tag read five dollars. Usually, I didn’t take money along on our walks. But that day I happened to have a five-dollar-bill. I’d planned to stop by the corner grocery for bread and fruit for lunch. Knowing I shouldn’t do it, I picked up the saucer, walked over to Mrs. Garson, and held it out to her with the bill and the little bit of change I had in my pocket. Mrs. Garson counted the tax out and handed me back a dime and some pennies. “You’re very lucky, my dear,” she said in a quavery old voice that reminded me somewhat of Grammie J’s. “These Blue Willow pieces are so much in demand. Why, I only put that one out on display about an hour ago!” I hoped the boys hadn’t seen me take the saucer out of the window. Even so, I knew they’d be curious as to what I had in the sack. To forestall their questions, I opened the door briskly and said, “Well, now that I’ve picked up that package for Mrs. Miller, why don’t we go home and get some lunch?” Josh and Jason were interested only in the idea of food. Mrs. Miller, who lived across the street from us, was not one of their favorite people. They raced off down the street ahead of me, leaving me alone to think about what I’d just done and how we’d all have to go without a piece of fruit at lunch and eat sandwiches made from bread that was definitely on the stale side—all because I’d used grocery money to buy the saucer. But it won’t hurt us—not just this once, I told myself defensively. Anyway, if Blue Willow was so much in demand, it was just that much more likely that someone would come along and buy the washstand set. Now, even if that did happen, at least I’d have my own little piece for comfort. But where am I going to keep it? I wondered. Josh and Jason were bound to remember seeing it in Garson’s window, so I’d have trouble explaining how it ended up in our house. Suddenly I felt ashamed. For the first time in my life, I’d told my little sons an out-and-out lie. While the boys were resting, I prowled around the house, trying to find a good hiding place for my treasure. Finally I thought of the storage cabinet in the basement. It still had all the old half-used cans of paint and rusty tools that were already in it when we first moved into the house. Ken insisted that it might come in handy sometime. But the fact is that Ken isn’t the handyman type at all. Mowing the lawn is about as close as he ever gets to mechanical equipment. He likes sports, and he’s either watching them on TV, bowling with his Wednesday night league, or playing softball on weekends with a group of guys from work. So I actually doubted that Ken had ever opened that cabinet again after his first look inside the day we moved in. There was plenty of room in it, too, and I could always push the saucer behind some cans to make doubly sure it was out of sight. But if I thought having my own piece of Blue Willow would make me any less disappointed when the washstand set in Garson’s window finally sold, I was wrong. I could hardly believe it was gone. It was like losing an old friend. As it happened, the big bear was no longer in his accustomed spot either. That distracted Joshua and Jason enough so that they didn’t notice the tears in my eyes—or how quiet I was during the rest of our walk. “It’s not fair,” Josh said. “Maude went away, and now our bear is gone, too.” “Yeah,” Jason echoed. “But what I’d really like is some baby elephants. Could we, Mom?” He looked at me hopefully. I was feeling so choked up that I couldn’t say a word. Luckily Josh answered for me. “Don’t be a dummy, Jase. They take up too much room. Let’s ask Dad if we can have a puppy!” Jason brightened at that. They spent the rest of our homeward journey discussing which kind of dog to ask for. While the boys were resting, I spent an extra long time in the basement looking at my Blue Willow saucer and remembering Grammie J. Ken didn’t seem to notice how quiet I was at dinner that night, because Josh and Jason had launched a full-scale assault on their dad to get him to agree to a pup. “You’ll have to ask your mom,” he said finally. “She’s the one in charge of puppy and people chow. Right, Dottie?” To my surprise, I found myself saying bitterly, “That’s all we need—some bottomless pit of a growing dog to feed!” Ken gave me a startled look, then turned to the boys and said, “Hey, guys, I think Mom’s had a rough day. We’ll talk about it some other time.” After Josh and Jason had left the table, protesting, Ken looked at me quizzically. “Want to talk about what’s eating you?”
“It’s nothing, really,” I lied. “I guess we’re just all disappointed about Mrs. Garson selling that old bear. It was making up a little for not having our favorite live donkey around.” Ken nodded understandingly, which made me feel even more guilty. How could he possibly know I was leaving out the most important part? But I consoled myself at the thought of how ridiculous it would sound if I said I was all broken up over an antique washstand set. Ken would certainly think his normally sane wife had taken complete leave of her senses. In an effort to distract us, I took the boys to a nearby playground for the next few days, instead of on our usual walk. But the little park didn’t have much play equipment, and by the third day, Josh was moaning and groaning about having to go to what he called “the baby place.” Jason had been enjoying it until he heard the scorn in his brother’s voice. Almost at once, he, too, joined in complaining. “Can’t we go look in the bear house again?” Jason asked. “Maybe that lady got a ‘nocerous or a caramel.” “Camel,” Josh corrected with a snort. “Anyway, I think a stuffed tiger would be better. Come on, Mom. Let’s go.” I followed them reluctantly at first. Then it suddenly struck me that I was the one who was being silly. Mrs. Garson was buying things all the time. I’d been acting as though all the Blue Willow in the world had suddenly dropped from sight, just because that one set had been sold. I felt as though a load had been lifted from my shoulders. Eagerly I hurried after the boys. Our first glance into the shop window wasn’t too exciting. Josh and Jason were disappointed to see that there wasn’t a single wild beast in the window, but a collection of old train-set pieces soon had them oohing and aahing. I was feeling pretty letdown myself, until I suddenly realized that there was no reason for me to stand outside peering wistfully through the window, like The Little Match Girl. Antique shops would probably never be my favorite places even though they housed Blue Willow. But after all, I had survived my last trip inside. So I pushed open the door, leaving Jase and Joshua to their window-gazing. Old Mrs. Garson’s face lit up when she saw me. “Ah, I just knew you’d be back. I can tell a real collector when I see one. They have that dedicated look. I put something aside just for you, my dear.” Before I could protest, Mrs. Garson had bustled off to the other room and returned with a single tea cup. “If I remember rightly,” she said, “this will go perfectly with that saucer you bought.” “Thank you, Mrs. Garson,” I began, “I just can’t—” “Don’t thank me, my dear,” she interrupted. “I like for my things to go to people who really appreciate them.” I mumbled to myself all the way home about giving in too easily. Mrs. Garson had promised to keep the cup for me until Saturday. That was the day Ken looked after his sons while I did the weekly marketing. I hadn’t dared let the boys see me leaving Garson’s with another package. They were bound to blurt something out to Ken, and I could just see myself getting tangled in a snarl of lies about my “errands” for Mrs. Miller. As it is, I thought with embarrassment, I’ve deceived poor old Mrs. Garson into thinking I’m a serious collector. I tried not to think about where I could shave expenses to get the five dollars for the cup. I told myself that I just hadn’t had the heart to say no to Mrs. Garson after her kindness in saving the piece. But the truth was that it had been all I could do not to snatch it out of her hand and rush right out of the shop with it. Snatches of childhood accusations drifted into my mind: “Can’t trust that child” . . . “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit to find she’s been shoplifting” . . . “No telling what she’ll do next.” While the boys rested, I locked myself in my bedroom with my treasured saucer from the basement cupboard. I sat there on the bed, clasping it to my chest as though it were a beloved doll that I could draw comfort from. I felt shaken by all my deceptions and by how desperately I’d wanted that cup. I put my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t shut out all the accusing voices. “I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!” I said over and over to myself. I’m not untrustworthy. I’m not all those awful things they say. I’d said those same words angrily to myself many times during my childhood. And I’d honestly believed they were true. But now, I shivered at the thought that maybe my relatives had been right all along. It seemed as though old Mrs. Garson and I had entered into a secret pact that day. Perhaps because I was so guilty and tongue-tied in her presence, she had made her own analysis of the situation. My husband, she concluded, disapproved of women wasting their time on what she called “tea pretties.” “Men!” she’d said, shaking her head in mock despair. “They’ll spend money on custom-made bowling shoes or lose a small fortune in golf balls in some overgrown mud puddle and not think a thing of it. But let the lady of the house come home with a pretty five-dollar tea cup—Well!” She threw up her hands. “Never you mind, my dear. I know just how it is.” Her words had their effect. For the first time, I thought I might actually have the right to be spending money frivolously on myself. After all, Ken’s company sponsored their team, so I had looked on it as a work-related
expense when he bought bowling things. Besides, I’d told myself, it is good exercise. And I’d never wanted to be one of those women who’d begrudged their men a night out with the boys. I’d always automatically put Ken and the boys first. As a child, I’d gotten so used to being last or to getting the leftovers that I really hadn’t even thought twice about it. How well I remember the way Uncle George made a big thing of offering me the platter of Sunday fried chicken, telling me to help myself to “the piece that came over the fence last.” Ken had to have some pocket money, too, and I tried not to think about how much it cost when he and the fellows stopped off for a few beers on the way home from bowling. Ken was the one who worked to “bring home the bacon,” as he always put it. If corners have to be cut, I’d remind myself firmly, then I’ll just have to be the one to do it. If I’d known anything at all about antique collecting—and about kindly old ladies who run curio shops—I’d have made sure never to go past Garson’s again, for at least once a week some new piece of Blue Willow was now sure to turn up in the window. I no longer went inside while the boys were along, no matter how much I might covet the sugar bowl or creamer or small dish. Instead, I’d include a brief stop at Garson’s in my Saturday marketing trips. Hardly a week passed that I didn’t spend ten or fifteen dollars. That may not sound like much, but the money had to come from somewhere. So I took to putting patches on the already patched knees of the boys’ jeans. And I put off buying them new sneakers way past the time I’d usually have said they were a disgrace because of all the holes. All the Blue Willow I’d bought was fast filling up the spaces between the old cans of paint. It was like a breath of fresh air to me whenever I opened that musty old cabinet and gazed happily at my precious collection. Fifteen minutes of taking pieces down one at a time and examining each lovingly in turn felt more restful and relaxing than an hour’s nap. I came to look forward to my sons’ rest hour, the way I’d eagerly awaited my next glimpse at the washstand set in Garson’s window—or my long-ago visits to Grammie J’s. It never occurred to me to wonder why I kept buying more and more pieces, or how many would he enough to satisfy me. I knew only that my efforts at scrimping to support my Blue Willow habit weren’t good enough. Where else can I cut? I thought frantically one day. Ken was a meat-and-potatoes man. That meant food was a big expense. But he hated anything that even looked vaguely like a casserole—”ladybug food,” he called it. I could get away with serving Italian spaghetti only if it was liberally smothered in a very meaty sauce. Still, since we did sometimes have tunafish sandwiches for Saturday lunch, I decided to try a tuna casserole. I should have known better. “What’s with the ladybug food, Dottie?” he asked, frowning as he poked at my concoction. “W-well,” I stammered, “you know how prices have been going up. The cost of beef has really skyrocketed, and—” “Yeah, I know,” Ken interrupted. “Even hamburger costs a bundle these days. But after working hard all day, I need some good red meat.” He looked up and saw my stricken expression. “Don’t worry, Dottie,” he added, reaching over and patting my hand. “We’ll manage. We always have.” I looked down at my plate and swallowed hard. I felt so ashamed, that I couldn’t even look him in the face. Well, Dottie, I told myself, you’ve certainly changed! Your sons are practically wearing rags, and your husband has to do without the food he likes just so you can buy a bunch of useless old dishes. Shame on you! But, to my surprise, I felt a flash of anger at Ken, and another small voice somewhere inside me said defiantly, How can he be so selfish? Shocked at my thoughts, I told myself severely that I was the one who was being selfish. I wasn’t doing right by my family. I was spending money recklessly—just like my father the gambler! I suddenly realized with horror. I really clamped down on myself after that. I actually managed to get through two whole weekends without making my usual stop at Garson’s. The boys simply had to have new jeans and sneakers, so I knew I didn’t have a penny to spare for impulse buying of any sort. And I might have continued to resist the temptation, except for a phone call from Mrs. Garson early the next week. “Dottie, my dear,” she announced, “you simply must come in as soon as you can. I have the most adorable little treasure, a very old child’s Blue Willow tea set.” I thought my heart would leap right out of my chest. In spite of all my promises to myself, I breathlessly assured her that I’d be right over. If I had my own tea set to replace Grammie J’s— which rightfully should have been mine, I thought defensively—maybe then I wouldn’t have to keep on buying more and more Blue Willow. And maybe that hollow feeling in my middle would finally go away. I ran across the street and, pleading an emergency, asked Mrs. Miller if she could possibly look after Josh and Jason for an hour or so. The boys hated being around Mrs. Miller, but all I could think about was getting over to Garson’s before anyone else got his or her hands on my tea set. I held my breath at the sight of it. I was almost afraid to touch the delicate cups.
The set would have been the delight of a princess, with its matching tray and adorable tiered platter for little cakes. There was even a fruit dish and a tiny candy server. But the figure on the price tag literally made me feel sick to my stomach—two hundred dollars! “Perhaps I could just take two of the cups and saucers and the teapot—” I began hesitantly, wondering how I could bear to do without the whole set. “I’m sorry, my dear. This is quite a find, because it’s so old and because of the extra pieces. It must have been a special one-of-a-kind order, because I’ve never seen another anything like it. Intact, it’s a real collector’s item, so of course I couldn’t break up the set.” The serious but kindly expression on Mrs. Garson’s face told me that, even though she hadn’t actually said it aloud, she was making me a special one-of-a-kind bargain price, because she wanted the set to go to someone who would love and treasure it. In a daze, I found myself giving her all the cash I had as a down payment. I promised to return soon with the rest of the money. I had no idea where I was going to get the remaining one hundred and ninety dollars. My mind in a whirl, I drove around aimlessly, trying to think of what to do. Suddenly my eyes focused on my engagement ring. “Oh, no! I couldn’t do that!” I gasped. “That would be horrible.” But even as I spoke, I headed the car toward Second Street, where all the pawnshops were. My stomach churned as I thought of what Ken would say when he found out. I wasn’t at all surprised when the pawnshop owner gave me two hundred dollars without one word of argument. My ring had one modest-sized diamond surrounded by smaller ones. I’d always loved it. Ken could never have afforded to buy me one like it, and I knew how very proud he’d been to have such a valuable family heirloom to place on my ring finger. So what can you possibly be thinking of, Dottie? I asked myself as I walked out into the bright sunlight, clutching the two one-hundred-dollar bills. I tried not to notice how oddly light my finger felt without the accustomed weight. “I’ll just have to tell Ken it slipped off and got washed down the drain,” I said aloud, trying to sound brave. But I felt disgusted with myself, as though all the things my relatives had always said were true, after all. I forced myself to hum loudly as I drove over to Garson’s—anything to block out those I-told-you-so voices in my brain: “Bad blood” . . . “Runs in the family.” Once I walked out of the shop with my precious tea set, though, I felt happy enough to burst. Whatever I’d done was worth it if I could feel even half this good from now on. I stuffed the tea set package inside a crumpled old grocery sack from the floor of the backseat. I realized I wouldn’t have time to put it away in the basement before Ken got home. On top of that, I had to get Joshua and Jason from Mrs. Miller’s right away. So I planned to tuck the individually tissue-wrapped pieces of the set away in a dresser drawer, under some bulky sweaters and heavy winter socks. Perhaps I could sneak them to the basement later when Ken was watching television. “How come you left the boys with Mrs. Miller?” Ken asked that evening. “Josh and Jase have been complaining about it ever since I came in.” Guiltily I mumbled something about another neighbor down the street having a sick baby and no one to pick up a prescription for her. I was sure my voice sounded strained, and that I undoubtedly had a huge red “L” for “Liar” emblazoned on my forehead. But my explanation seemed to satisfy Ken. My heart was pounding and my palms sweating, though. I couldn’t help wondering if anyone else ever gets to feel comfortable about lying. I felt just plain awful! Worse yet, there was still the matter of telling Ken about the ring being washed down the sink. But not tonight, I decided, unless Ken notices it’s missing. One lie a day is about all I can handle. I kept my hand in my lap all through dinner, but the worry of being discovered had me exhausted before the ten o’clock news. I went on to bed ahead of Ken and pretended to be asleep when he finally did come in. I didn’t sleep well. It seemed I was waking up every few minutes. I was actually grateful when daylight came and I could get up. The alarm went off sometime later, and I heard the sounds of Ken washing up in the bathroom. I went on with breakfast preparations, not bothering to turn around when I finally heard him walk into the kitchen. When I did turn, I was horrified to see that he was holding my precious Blue Willow teapot—which, in my state of nervous exhaustion, I’d forgotten to bring to the basement last night! “I was looking for some heavy socks,” he said, “and I couldn’t figure our why you’d be hiding these little girl’s dishes in the drawer.” I cringed at the words “little girl.” It made all my lies and my trip to the pawnshop seem cheap and trivial and childish. To my despair, I burst into tears and blurted out everything all at once.
“Hey, hold on, Dottie. I can’t understand a word you’re saying, with all that crying.” Ken reached for a tissue and handed it to me, a look of concern on his face. But his look turned to one of shock when he heard what I’d done with my engagement ring. Feeling about one inch high, I led him to the basement and threw open the cupboard. Ken shook his head. “I don’t know what the big deal is about a bunch of dishes. I mean, I can see why you were attached to your grandmother’s tea set, but —” As guilty as I felt, I suddenly turned on him in anger. “It’s no worse than spending money on beer and bowling. Don’t I have the right to a little pin money?” Ken stared at me for a long moment, then sat down heavily on the basement steps. “Money of your own,” he echoed. “I don’t know, Dottie. It’s just that you always seem so self-sufficient. I mean, you’re a whiz at making money go a long way, and, well, I guess I just assumed that you kept back a little for yourself, just the way you do for me. I figured you’d automatically expect a share of what belongs to both of us.” As I listened to him, I realized Ken was right. I’d never said anything, never complained or hinted that I didn’t have everything I needed. I was still acting like a kid, a “little girl” who had to be on her good behavior all the time and who’d been taught never to expect anything. Ken grew up in a family that shared. How could he have guessed that my childhood had trained me so differently? Well, Dottie, I told myself firmly, it’s time you grew up and accepted the consequences of what you’ve done. But before I could open my mouth to say a word, Ken spoke again. “Look, if that tea set is so important to you, Dottie, why don’t you see if you can trade in some or all of the stuff you have down here in the basement? I mean, maybe Mrs. Garson could take the things back and just resell them.” I threw my arms around him and started crying again. I should have known he wouldn’t blame me, that he’d just be his usual practical self, thinking of the best way to solve the problem. After all the trouble I’d gotten myself into with my lies, I decided the best thing to do was just to tell Mrs. Garson the truth, throwing myself on her mercy. But I was shaking like a leaf as I pushed open the door of her shop. Ken and the boys waited for me in the car. To my surprise, Mrs. Garson listened sympathetically and agreed without hesitation to what Ken had suggested. I’d have to give back everything else in order to keep my tea set, but it was definitely worth it. Gratefully I handed the big box over to Mrs. Garson. As she handed me back my ill gotten two hundred dollars, she patted my hand and said, “You’re a very lucky young woman, my dear.” Before I could ask what she meant by that, she added, “I misjudged your husband. That was shortsighted of me, of course, because I’d never met him and had no idea what a wise and understanding person he is.” How could I be so lucky? I asked myself, my eyes blurring with joyful tears. I’d soon have my beautiful heirloom ring back. I had my own Blue Willow tea set to go with the happy memories of my dear great-grandmother. And I had my own wonderful sons and trusting and caring husband. Oh, I know there’ll probably always be some things in my life that give me that walking-on-eggs feeling. But I’ll just have to accept that and try to deal with it as best I can. I don’t have to do it alone and in secret, though, now that I understand that I have Ken’s loving support whenever I need it. What more can I ask for? Nothing-except, that is, for the beautiful carved shelf that Ken and the boys gave me for my birthday the following month. “It’s for your tea set, Mom,” the boys chorused. As we joined in a four-way hug, a warm feeling spread through my whole body, and I realized that the hollow feeling in my middle had disappeared completely. THE END